The Young Trawler

by R. M. Ballantyne

The reason of this nautical character of the wedding was not far to seek, for had not the bridegroom—whose name began with a Dee—risked his life in rescuing from the deep a Bright—we might almost say the brightest—young life belonging to the fishing fleets of the North Sea? And was not the lovely bride one of the best and staunchest friends of the fisherman? And was she not mixed up, somehow, with the history of that good old sea-captain—if not actually a relation of his—who preached so powerfully, and who laboured so earnestly to turn seamen from darkness to light? And had not the wedding been expressly delayed until the period of one of the smacks’ return to port, so that six fishermen—namely, Joe Davidson, Ned Spivin, Luke Trevor, John Gunter, Billy Bright, and Zulu—might be invited guests? Besides these, there were the skipper and crew of the gospel-ship which was also in port at that time; and other fishermen guests there were, known by such names as Mann, White, Snow, Johnston, Goodchild, Brown, Bowers, Tooke, Rogers, Snell, Moore, Roberts, and many more—all good men and true—who formed part of that great population of 12,000 which is always afloat on the North Sea.

Besides these guests, and a host of others who were attracted by the unusual interest displayed in this wedding, there were several people with whom we may claim some slight acquaintance,—such as Miss Jessie Seaward and her sister, who wept much with joy, and laughed not a little at being so foolish as to cry, and Liffie Lee, who was roused with excitement to the condition of a half-tamed wildcat, but was so dressed up and brushed down and washed out that her best friend might have failed to recognise her. But if we go on, we shall never have done—for the whole of Yarmouth seemed to be there—high and low, rich and poor! Of course Mrs Dotropy was also there, grand, confused, sententious as ever, amiable, and unable to command her feelings—in a state, so to speak, of melting magnificence. And a great many “swell” people—as Billy styled them—came down from London, for Mrs Dotropy, to their disgust, had positively refused to have the wedding in the West End mansion, for reasons best known to herself.

You should have heard the cheer that followed the happy couple when they finally left the church and drove away! We do not refer to the cheering of the multitude; that, though very well in its way, was a mere mosquito-squeak to the deep-toned deafening, reverberating shout of an enthusiasm—born upon the sea, fed on the bread and water of life, strengthened alike by the breezes of success and the gales of adversity—which burst in hurricane violence from the leathern lungs and throats of the North Sea fishermen! We leave it, reader, to your imagination.

There was no wedding breakfast proper, for the happy pair left Yarmouth immediately after the knot was tied, but there was a small select party which drove off in a series of cabs to a feast prepared in a certain cottage not far from the town. This party was composed chiefly of fishermen and their wives and children. It was headed by Captain Bream and his sister Mrs Bright. In the same carriage were Mrs Dotropy, the Miss Seawards, and Mrs Joe Davidson and her baby. It was a big old-fashioned carriage capable of holding six inside, and Billy Bright “swarmed” upon the dickey.

Arrived at the cottage, which had a fine lawn in front and commanded a splendid view of the sea, Captain Bream got down, took up a position at the garden-gate, and, shaking hands with each guest as he or she entered, bade him or her welcome to “Short Blue Cottage!”

“’Tis a pleasant anchorage,” he said to the sisters Seaward as they passed in, “very pleasant at the end of life’s voyage. Praise the Lord who gave it me! Show them the way, Nellie; they’ll know it better before long. You’ll find gooseberry bushes in the back garden, an’ the theological library in the starboard attic. Their own berths are on the ground-floor.”

You may be sure that with such a host the guests were not long in making themselves at home.

Captain Bream had not invited the party merely to a wedding feast. It was the season of fruits and flowers, and he had set his heart on his friends making a day of it. Accordingly, he had made elaborate preparations for enjoyment. With that practical sagacity which frequently distinguishes the nautical mind, he had provided bowls and quoits for the men; battledore and shuttlecock for the younger women; football and cricket and hoops, with some incomprehensible Eastern games for the children, and a large field at the side of the cottage afforded room for all without much chance of collision.

The feast was, of course, a strictly temperance one, and we need scarcely say it was all the more enjoyable on that account.

“You see, my friends,” said the host, referring to this in one of his brief speeches, “as long as it may please God to leave me at anchor in this snug port, I’ll never let a drop o’ strong drink enter my doors, except in the form of physic, and even then I’ll have the bottle labelled ‘poison—to be taken under doctor’s prescription.’ So, my lads—my friends, I mean, beggin’ the ladies’ pardon—you’ll have to drink this toast, and all the other toasts, in lemonade, ginger beer, soda water, seltzer, zoedone, tea, coffee, or cold water, all of which wholesome beverages have been supplied in overflowing abundance to this fallen world, and are to be found represented on this table.”